


Bits and Bobs

by red375



Series: Firelight [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate timelines and endings, Angry ficlets;, F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22460140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red375/pseuds/red375
Summary: Various pieces featuring Jaime and Brienne.
Relationships: Brienne of Tarth/Other(s), Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Firelight [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616110
Comments: 12
Kudos: 47





	1. Oathkeeper

**Author's Note:**

> In this series neither of them dies, but Jaime suffers a fair bit. The endings often don’t feature them ending up together, although it is still a possibility.
> 
> Warning: Some suicidal tendencies in this chapter

“Do you think she was born cruel?” Sansa ponders. “Or did she learn at her father’s teat?” Brienne follows her gaze to the dais, willing her face and voice into neutrality. 

Two queens sit proudly at the high table. Daenerys is defiantly confident in the face of the threat outside the doors, giving a speech meant to reassure the soldiers. Cersei seethes with resentment at the occupation of her keep. She would have left them outside the walls to join the army of dead if she could.

Jaime opened the gates in exchange for their lives and a truce ‘til winter’s end. Ser Jaime, who was briefly her Jaime. When the battle of Winterfell was won, they rejoiced and for a brief moment she allowed herself to believe he loved her. He may have cared for her, but in the end he did not care to stay.

He left the night it was discovered their first battle was merely with the vanguard, and The Night King’s true army still marched upon them. In the midst of endless battles and retreats, Brienne has rarely reflected on his departure, except to curse her luck that day. She does not know if he knew; if he left to protect Cersei from the Night King or Dragon Queen. When she is feeling charitable she considers that perhaps he left to secure their retreat. Regardless, King’s Landing has been admirably fortified.

Daenerys finishes, the men are murmuring and Sansa is still speaking “I’d say a combination of both, no? Natural inclinations and entitlement mixed with years of being belittled result in one murderous, incestuous queen? Yet we all endure such treatment, and here we stand” 

Brienne frowns at Sansa, unsure of how to respond. Eventually she says slowly “I doubt she was a murderer as a child.” Brienne shrugs “As she grew she became steadily crueler. Does it matter how or why?”

Sansa glares at Cersei. “So, you would argue that she learnt to be cruel over time?” She smiles suddenly and coldly. “At least I know who taught me cruelty.”

Brienne worries about Sansa at times. Not for Sansa, as she usually does and as she knows a sworn sword must, but about Sansa. She searches for a counterpoint.

“When I was a young girl my master at arms, Goodwin, made me work in the slaughter house. To toughen me up, and cure me of my soft girlish heart.” She attempts an imitation of the old man on the last line. “I hated it at first, and I was terrible at it. I couldn’t kill them properly sometimes, so they would wander around in pain.” She winces at the memory “But eventually I stopped crying or looking away.”

“So, he was successful.” Sansa interrupts.

“I learned how to kill, when it was necessary. But I still don’t want to kill.” Brienne finished.

Sansa considers her point for a time “I see.” she nods in acknowledgment, and they sit in silence.

After animals, Goodwin taught her to kill humans, although without the practical aspect. He taught her to kill quickly and cleanly; the quickest way to a man’s heart, as well as the locations of the largest arteries. Sometimes he would mention slower deaths, like sliding a blade lengthwise through the chest and lungs until they choked on their own blood. Once he pointed carefully to a spot on the stomach of a drawing in the maesters book; _strike here, and they will linger for days in agony, and the best a maester can do is a quick strike to the base of the skull._

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brienne has always though of herself as a good person. She has brought death, yes, when necessary. This is also necessary, but she does not fool herself into believing it will not cause great grief.

The babe in her arms blinks its green eyes up at her, and behind them the weirwood tree weeps blood. Brienne blinks rapidly as a snowflake lands on her lashes. Snow falls softly around them, blanketing the forest and muffling all sound.

Arya shifts beside her, tossing the knife into the air and catching it. The moonlight glints off the blade. “They are coming.” She says quietly. After a moment, Brienne hears two pairs of blundering footsteps through the trees.

The two Lannisters stumble though the trees, Jaime leading Cersei by the arm. Their red finery from the feast stands out sharply in the dark woods and white snow. Cersei gives a tinkling laugh when she sees them, “This is why I was dragged out into the cold? A little girl and a lumbering beast have the nerve. Return my child, or I will ensure your deaths are never-ending.”

Brienne notes that she is wearing Jaime’s coat. Jaime is more cautious than Cersei, his gaze fixed on the babe in Brienne’s arms. “Brienne, you don’t truly mean to do this.” He seems startled at her presence. This is not likely what he expected when he found the note in the empty crib summoning him and his sister to the godswood.

Brienne cannot respond, or meet his gaze. She stares blankly at the dark tree trunks behind him. Arya responds instead. “Only death can pay for life. The old gods require a sacrifice to defeat the White Walkers.”

Cersei snorts derisively, but Jaime looks panicked as Arya hands the Valyrian steel knife to Brienne. “You won’t do this, Brienne.” He pleads. “You cannot, it is an innocent babe and you are a good person. You don’t need to do this.”

Brienne fights down the blockage in her throat. “If it saved the lives of thousands, I would.” He shakes his head uncomprehendingly and stares at her.

Arya continues her statement “Fortunately, she does not need to. Not with the arrival of a far worthier sacrifice.”

Jaime raises his eyebrows at the realization, and then nods in acknowledgement. He approaches them slowly, palms out and arms held from this side. Brienne decides to try “You will not volunteer?” She stares directly at Cersei. Tears are threatening to spill from her eyes.

The siblings share a confused glance, and Cersei nods her head regally. Jaime continues forward, stopping in front of Brienne. He unbuckles Widow’s Wail, and hands it to her. She takes it with trembling hands, staring at the ground, almost dropping it. He touches her cheek and her gaze automatically goes to his.

His eyes are round and sorrowful. Don’t look at me like that, she wants to scream. I can’t bear it. “I am sorry Brienne.” He says. “I … I was planning to spend the rest of my life earning your forgiveness, so I hope this will do.”

The tears are pouring down her face now. Wordlessly, she loops rope around his waist, tying him to a tree. She does not bother to tie a proper knot; he could free himself in minutes if he tried, but he will not, now.

Cersei steps forward to take the child, her arms stiff as she holds it away from her, and her face hard as rock. Brienne realizes that Cersei would not volunteer even to save her child. She glances back at Jaime and sees he knows this too.

It makes what she needs to do easier. She twists the hilt of the knife in her hands and stabs.

The blade slices through Cersei’s midriff, sinking deeply into her gut. Brienne wrenches the baby from her as Cersei falls. Blood drips from the knife onto the snow. Cersei is silent and shocked, her hands clutching her belly. Any blood is invisible amongst the red of the dress, and if Brienne had not felt the knife go in, she wouldn’t think her injured at all.

Jaime yells, breaking the silence. Cersei, Brienne knows, will start to scream in agony soon enough. She might scream for days, but the cold will take her first. Or she will be put out of her misery. Brienne places Widow’s Wail carefully at the base of the tree.

Jaime stares at her with rage and horror. He will not forgive her this, she knows. Likely he already regrets his kind words moments ago.

As she walks away, her heart pounds in her chest. It shames her to admit she does not care about Cersei, only those her death will harm. The babe yawns, and Brienne glances at the child she has left motherless. It’s uncle, at least, will take good care of it.

The tears have stopped, and all her emotions seem to have drained into the pit inside her chest. She is tired, and unworthy, but the night is not over.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She finds Bran and Tyrion talking in the throne room, and hands Tyrion his niece. Bran looks at her with his dead eyed stare “It is done.” He says, and Brienne knows he does not refer to her deeds.

Tyrion is staring in horror at the blood on the swaddling cloth. “What is done? Brienne, what did you do?” 

“What was necessary.” She responds. She places a letter on the table. “I left one for Sansa, as well. I left Tarth to Podrick.” She looks at Tyrion. “I didn’t want to involve him in this.” She’d gone to Arya instead. “You’ll have to explain it to him. Tell him he was the best squire I could have asked for, and that I am sorry.”

“Sorry for what? What happened?” Tyrion asks.

Brienne ignores him, and hands Bran the dagger. She didn’t clean it well in her haste, and flecks of blood shadow the blade. “This is yours. Oathkeeper also belongs to the Starks. I placed it in Sansa’s room.”

Bran nods and turns to Tyrion “Your brother is unharmed. He will be here soon.” He faces Brienne. “What do you intend to do?”

Brienne shrugs off her cloak and settles into the steps beneath the throne. She left her armour and weaponry in her room, and is wearing only plain clothes. “I had considered running. But I decided I will not. If I am to be honourless at least I will not be a coward.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brienne doesn’t know how long it takes for him to come find her. She sees him long before walks through the door, when a strange light begins to flicker off the wall. He throws the doors open and strides into the room.

She had expected the sword to be on fire, but instead his golden hand is covered in blue flame. She blinks in astonishment as the golden fingers seem to twitch. She wonders how he killed her. When the Azor Ahai prophecy was first raised they had discussed how the requirements might fulfilled, and who ought to die. Jon had offered himself immediately, as did many others. In the end it was decided they wouldn’t risk a potentially fruitless attempt

Brienne did not offer herself; there was only one candidate and he did not love her in return. Nor did she have the ability to kill him. There was only one pair she knew of, disgusting as they were, who she believed suited the requirements. So, she developed her plan, to protect the Starks and end the war.

Jaime glares at her, and she stares resolutely at him. His eyes are red-rimmed and furious, and her heart aches for him. When he presses the point of the sword to her throat, she does not move.

“Will you not fight back?” He jeers. She notices the sword is being gripped by his right hand.

“It is your right to pass judgement.” She says quietly. “I am sorry to have caused you this pain.” She will not apologize for Cersei.

He raises the sword, and she forces herself not to flinch. Then he throws it across the room, where it knocks over a brazier. Flames spill out across the hall.

“Go.” He says, his voice breaking.

She walks from the room. She’ll stay to fight the Others, and then quietly return to Tarth. Or perhaps he means to have her exiled entirely from Westeros.

She sighs quietly. At least he lives.

**Notes:**

Medics once would perform mercy killings using a pointed spike at the base of the skull, (I think to pierce the spinal cord). Brienne being forced to slaughter animals is canon. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: Forced Marriage after the war. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: See the second relationship tag. It isn't the focus, but it exists.

Whenever she bothers to look at it from an outside perspective, Brienne can see the sense of the Dragon Queen’s decision.

Sansa will keep the north, but be stripped of her sworn sword and close ally. Tyrion loses any hope of inheriting Casterly Rock. Rather than a quick death, Jaime will be saddled with the ugly wife and failing keep he never wanted. For his loyalty to the crown, her father will receive thousands of gold dragons, and a far better marriage than he might have hoped for his wayward daughter.

Brienne is unsure if she was considered, and she was certainly not consulted. She guesses if she was the queen likely expected her to be happy with a handsome husband and castle in the warm south.

What Brienne is actually receiving is a man grieving the death of his former lover, a man who ran away from her at the first opportunity. She burns with shame whenever she thinks of Jaime being forced to accept her. It is unlikely she will ever see her home again, or her friends and liege in the north. The rest of her life will be spent in the gloom of Casterly Rock, amidst mocking hordes of courtiers.

Perhaps once, Brienne might have been happy enough to join Jaime in his home.

Her husband sits blank faced beside her throughout the wedding feast. She scowls fearsomely when some of the revelers attempt a bedding ceremony. Her new husband takes a look at her and opts to curl up in a chair by the fireplace.

She avoids him on the ride to the Westerlands, either by scouting forward with the outriders or dropping to the rear to ride in silence with the Hound. She talks and spars with some of the knights and lesser lords by the fireplace in the early evening, escaping dinner in the high lord’s tent.

At night she determinedly constructs her own tent, and is grateful for the close confines of the camp, which prevent any intimacy between herself and Jaime.

The arrival at Casterly Rock is unceremonious. They dismount, and are shown to their respective rooms.

Brienne hates the Rock. The castle itself is massive, filled with dark corridors that twist and turn which she can never seem to navigate. Her bedroom is also massive, and somehow colder than Winterfell. The door leading to the adjacent Lord’s bedroom lacks a bolt, looming over her head.

Brienne hates the people of the Westerlands. The servants go out their day with heads politely bowed, and seem to smirk behind her back. Ladies appear to escort her to embroidery each day, where she sits in a hot room and watches the Ladies of the court sip wine, gossip, and giggle behind their hands. They rarely attempt to hide if they are discussing her.

It seems her only friend in the castle is Podrick, and she rarely sees him. Her closeness with Pod appears to have been deemed inappropriate, and the steward has placed him on the other end of the castle. At least Pod seems to be enjoying being back in the land of his birth – he has made friends among the squires and kitchen girls. She offered to find a proper knight he could squire for with some hope of earning a knighthood, but the boy refused.

She never sees her husband, except when it cannot be avoided. On one such occasion, he tried to say something to her at a feast after she’d endured particularly trying needlework session, and she barked at him to be quiet and leave her alone. He spends most of his time in his office supposedly reading reports. She suspects from Tyrion’s comments that he does little actual work, and spends most of his time staring into nothing and mourning.

Blankness is certainly what she experiences in his presence. She knows as a dutiful wife she ought to spend her time attempting to cheer him up, but she can’t bring herself to make the effort. Especially when he gives no sign of attempting anything which might ease her transition to Lady of the Rock.

So, Brienne passes her days alternating between loneliness, frustration and boredom. Even as spring arrives, she is forced indoors. Someone else exercises her horse, and her gear has disappeared into some storeroom. She doesn’t bother asking for it back.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Finally, she has had enough. There is no grand event that instigates her fury. The day is like any other, so it is perhaps the thought of having to endure one more day of nothing that causes her to snap. 

Regardless of the reason, she stands abruptly and throws her cloth into the fire. The ladies stop chattering and turn to stare. Brienne towers over them, and she stares defiantly back. She remembers, suddenly, that she is the Lady of the Rock. “I’m going out.” 

She marches down to the stable and orders the groom to saddle her horse. Her tone is such that he doesn’t protest, and even brings her the correct horse rather than the oldest nag in the stable. He does take too long to saddle her, so she tells him to move aside and does it herself. Then she is galloping over the drawbridge and she is finally out of the castle.

She trots slowly along the cliffs, not wanting to wear out her horse or herself. The waves crash on the beach below, and the wind cuts through her hair. For a melancholy moment she closes her eyes and pretends she is back on Tarth, inhaling the sea breeze and the scent of wet earth as the snow melts.

Brienne spends a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon roaming the hills around Lannisport. She finds a sprig of bluebells pushing up beneath the snow, and is tempted to pick them, but decides to let them grow. At some point she ends up on a beach to watch the ocean waves and the sun set.

When she finally returns, he is waiting in her room. She tenses as all the weight settles back down into her chest, and throws her gloves forcefully onto the table, making him look up. “Why are you here?”

“You were out late. I worried.” He says, taking in her dishevelled appearance. 

“Don’t bother to worry now.” She says shortly. Anger at his presence, after riding free of it for hours, seeps into her voice.

“Am I not allowed to think of you?” He sounds bitter.

“Do as you wish.” She responds, throwing her cloak on the chair and leaving to find a meal.

When she returns, he is gone.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day she does not go back to embroidery. Instead, she tracks down Podrick and forces him into morning drills. Later, she goes riding again, and spars with Bronn and the Hound in the evening. Sometimes she drills the squires with the master at arms, or assists the steward with figures and passing judgement.

Slowly her days settle into a new routine, only it is now bearable. Sometimes she even manages to forget that she was forced to be here.

Jaime gives few signs of wanting to move on, but Brienne finds she can extend more sympathy to him when she is not wasting it all on herself. She forces herself to speak cordially, and attempts to discuss safe topics such as the running of the Westerlands with him. Once she even invites him to spar when she notices him lurking in the training yards, watching her. He chuckles bitterly, gestures with his golden hand and walks away without responding, leaving her frustrated at his lack of effort.

Then the Dornish delegation arrives, and she makes a decision she will probably question for the rest of her life. He’s handsome, for a start. He’s good at fighting. He doesn’t pretend to love her either, which she appreciates. But the main thing is, he doesn’t mock her, even at first, which few men have done. 

She doesn’t much care for him, but she does care for Adam. He’s one of the few men she believes actually respects her. He’s kind, and he doesn’t tease her, which is very nice. Over the past few months they’ve become very good friends. He smiles and gives her kiss before leaving when he gets deployed to the Riverlands again.

She wonders if Adam feels guilty. She isn’t sure whether she feels guilty or not. On one hand, Jaime has made his lack of a claim (or desire to make one) on her quite clear. On the other, try as she might, it still feels like betrayal.

She tries to rationalize it by telling herself that Jaime doesn’t care, and indeed has not shown particular faithfulness to her. Then she realizes the only one she feels as if she is betraying is herself, or the girl she once was. Back when she clung so tightly to her ideas of love, maidenhood and matrimony. Brienne never believed she would willingly bed a man she did not love, but here she stands. And despite her septa’s words, the gods have not struck her down.

The problem does not appear for a few months, by which point it is probably too late to do anything about it, even she wanted to. After all, Tarth needs an heir.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaime is sitting in his study and staring at the goblet of wine in front of him. He doesn’t drink it, and rarely does, being a long-suffering witness to its effects on his siblings. He prefers to numb his mind with tax reports, and watching the world go by through the window.

There is a brief knock on the door, and Jaime tells whoever it is to come in. Brienne enters, and he stares at her, shocked that she has sought him out.

She has been doing well recently. At first, she appeared miserable, and he couldn’t seem to solve that, not when all she wanted was for him to stay away. But she has carved out her place all by herself, and is coping far better than he. She mostly ignores him, continuing her life as if he does not exist.

It irritates him, although he is loath to admit it, even to himself. In the past she may have hated him, may have loved him, but she was never indifferent. If she was furious, at least there was some emotion for him.

He conjures his best mocking tone from his younger days. “Whatever could my beloved wife want with me?” He stands and pulls out the chair across from him. “Do sit down, dear.”

She glares at him, exasperated, and inhales sharply. He grins, both because he is relieved to earn that look again and because it will annoy her.

Then “I’m with child” the words rush rapidly out of her mouth.

He collapses into a chair and stares at her in astonishment. He is going to have a child. There’s a queer sort of twisting in his stomach.

Then he realizes.

Blood starts rushing through his ears, blocking out the crackling fire. “Whose?” He manages.

She looks back at him, and does not respond. Either she doesn’t know, or cares enough to protect them. He can’t decide which option is worse. “What do you intend to do?” she asks instead. “I intend for it to be my heir.”

“I will consider it” Is all he can say. She nods and leaves.

For a start, he’d like to murder whichever man laid hands on her. He sinks back into his chair and buries his head in his hands as he realizes he has no right to so, that he bears no claim on her. Not for the first time, he curses his past self.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He finds his brother reading in his room, and sits down.

“That’s my bed.” Tyrion comments.

“I need your advice.” Jaime responds.

Tyrion closes his book carefully.

“Brienne’s pregnant.” He bursts out.

“Congratulations.” Tyrion looks at him searchingly. “You aren’t happy? She isn’t happy? I hadn’t thought you on good enough terms for me to be hearing this news”

“We’re not. It’s not mine.”

Tyrion sucks in a sharp breath, and runs his hand through his beard. In the tone of a man imparting a harsh truth he says “You caused this, you know?“

Jaime looks at him. “How? By leaving?” He doesn’t really want to be told, again, that he has fucked up his life, but he suspects his brother will regardless of his answer.

“She wouldn’t have begrudged you going to save our sister, you know, if you hadn’t bedded her and told her you were going to stay. You abandoned her in Winterfell, and you abandoned her at the Rock. Did you really imagine she would wait for you?”

Jaime winces, but Tyrion isn’t finished. “So what are you going to do?” Tyrion asks.

“For now, I’m going to drink my way through the finest wine in our cellars.” Jaime raises the wineskins high. “Care to join me.”

Hours later Jaime is lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling in a drunken haze, when Tyrion says something that catches his attention.

“It’s my fault she cheated on me?” Jaime sits up.

“That implies that you were with her at the time.” Tyrion holds up a hand to forestall Jaime’s protest. “You may be her husband, but I think you broke any chance at that sort of relationship when you left Winterfell.”

“I’m Robert.” Jaime declares abruptly. 

Tyrion looks perplexed and concerned. “Jaime?”

“I have, effectively, become Robert. A drunken old cuckhold who mistreats his wife, ignores his kingdom, and deserves everything coming to him.” He gulps from the wineskin. “I’m not fat yet, but give it time.” 

“You’re not Robert.” Tyrion says.

Jaime drops the wineskin to the floor. “Oh I think I am.”

Tyrion sighs. “You’re not. And you still haven’t told me what you are going to do.”

“I told you. I’m going to be Robert. Raise the child as my own, and hope everyone ignores the fact that it looks nothing like me. Or hope my wife bedded some Lannister cousin – there are enough of them around.”

“You’ll be a better father than Robert.” Tyrion appears sincere, as he attempts to look Jaime directly in the eyes. 

“I’ll try and be a better husband, too.” Jaime mutters quietly as he lays back and drifts to sleep.


End file.
